


It's Nine in the Afternoon

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has never seen Derek kiss anyone. Or the one where Stiles almost gets punched in the face by a werewolf and of course, Derek saves the day, again. With his lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Nine in the Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> Second Teen Wolf fic. I hope you like this! This is a little more upbeat and Stiles-ish than my last one.
> 
> Thank you, again, to Rosie for beta'ing! :'D

Stiles has never seen Derek kiss anyone, not even a little peck on the cheek, showing an ounce of affection that wasn’t laced in sarcasm or some type of physical pain–this doesn’t include the little puppy licks he gives everyone in the pack  _ aside _ from Stiles and Allison, but Allison gets enough from Scott anyway, so.  
  
It’s not to say that the man-wolf thing is some sort of a prude, because he’s not, he’s  _ obviously _ not, not with a muscular body like his–that leaves Stiles wondering  just how many push ups he had to do in order to get that sort of physique–and that stupidly attractive face of his. Stiles isn’t blind, he recognizes how hot Derek really is, underneath all of the supernatural creature bullshit and false stoic exterior, it’s just that Stiles has never really chosen to focus on it before.  
  
Stiles does care, deep down, because he thinks Derek probably knows that by now, by association at  least , Stiles is part of their little pack, too.  
  
That’s all fine and dandy, really, but Stiles would appreciate Derek stop glaring at him like he’s more of a nuisance than a help and how he’s probably planning to solve that problem by shoving Stiles into a tree after he kills him. Or maybe he’ll just eat him instead. Derek’s always come across as the kinky type when needed.  
  
Stiles  _ totally _ doesn’t want to think about that, so he doesn’t, and instead looks over at Scott who is staring adoringly at his gorgeous girlfriend who, still, despite the werewolfness and everything else, has decided that Scott might just not generally suck in the dickish way.   
  
Stiles doesn’t exactly share her sentiment, not really, but he likes her and his best friend is happy, and really, that’s all that matters.  
  
“You’re becoming worse than Derek,” Jackson says, scowling as he plops down next to him at the lunch table.  
  
Things are different between Jackson and Stiles now, and they almost, well, they almost  _ get along _ . Jackson isn’t so much of a dick anymore–he’s definitely still self-entitled, but it’s kind of becoming endearing. Stiles really needs to evaluate how out of control his life is spinning recently, because he’s pretty sure werewolves are taking over everything. Jackson’s a hard nut to crack, and has been incredibly smug since Derek has taken up private teaching lessons with him recently, in order to “strengthen his skill in a new, exhilarating way since he turned.”  Jackson’s words, not his.  
  
Personally, Stiles thinks they’re probably just having copious amounts of terribly gay and hot wolf sex.  
  
Jackson grimaces. “You’re seriously disgusting.”  
  
Stiles sputters, because  _ what _ . “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” he says, instead of saying something embarrassing like asking how much Jackson might or might not like bones now and is it okay if Stiles purchases him a collar for his birthday (“It’s beneficial for everyone involved,” Stiles argued to Scott, who was seriously rubbing his neck nervously, as if he was actually  thinking about having a collar on himself, too, and yeah it wasn’t the smartest idea on Stiles’ part, confronting a werewolf about collaring another werewolf, but whatever, Stiles still maintained his fabulous and hard-won GPA score at the end of the day).  
  
“You reek of curious desire man,” Jackson says, still disgusted, and shoves an apple in his mouth in order to stop thinking about whatever he thinks Stiles is thinking about.  
  
“So,” Stiles said, instead of focusing on the obvious, of how right Jackson actually was. Jackson just raises an eyebrow, using that special, all-knowing power of his that all of his friends have now, because he’s literally the only defenseless human in their pathetic little group anymore. Besides Allison, but she’s not even considered totally human anymore, not with her insane skills in archery and overall poor common sense in dating a super strong, well-equipped-to-kill, supernatural creature and all. Like she thinks Scott might actually  not slip up one day and accidentally rip her throat out.  
  
Stiles pretends like he isn’t jealous, but he really probably is.  
  
“What’s the status on you and Lydia–” Stiles doesn’t even finish his sentence, because he sees Jackson’s fist flying for his face, and he has just the right amount of time to duck before his teeth clatter on the table.  
  
“Are you  _ still _ going on this? Actually, you know what, don’t answer that. You obviously are.”  
  
Stiles shoots an offended look at him. He’s not  that pathetic, he can take a hint, believe it or not. “I can take a hint, believe it or not.”  
  
Jackson scoffs. “Right,” he says, “I highly doubt that,” and then he gets this otherworldly look like talking with mere mortals anymore is seriously ruining his IQ or something–which, wasn’t really high to begin with, but whatever, entitlement and being a charged up supernatural being seem to go hand in hand–and behind that Stiles is pretty sure he can see some type of inside joke there, probably between the more canine members of the pack.  
  
Derek is nice enough to let Allison and Stiles attend most of the meets, but the ones that they’re banned from, he’s almost positive they spend it sharing embarrassing stories about Stiles (mostly from Scott) and how much they ultimately would revel in his demise (mostly Derek).   
  
Stiles just, really doesn’t want to have this conversation anymore, not really. While Jackson has becomes loads more tolerable since the change, there’s only so much of him that he can take before he wants to bash his head into the nearest slab of concrete.  
  
He decides to text Derek, because Stiles’ favorite past time is annoying the guy to death, and he’s probably doing nothing in that creepy house of his anyway–except for being utterly creepy–and let’s face it, Stiles brightens up most people’s day.  
  
But, especially Derek’s. Which means not at all.  
  
The pack had finally convinced him that he needed a phone, because their weird ass spidey senses only went so far, especially with the new converts. Stiles had taken the liberty to program his name in it first, but he doubts Derek noticed it anyway. Whatever, Stiles is just glad the Alpha has a phone now so he doesn’t have to drown in this horrible excuse for a conversation.  
  
To: D’Dawg  
From: Stiles  
  
 _ I am almost 100% positive that Jackson thinks that I think about you two having sex. _  
  
He hits send before he can think better of it, and almost wishes he was right by Derek, to see his reaction. Though, there probably wouldn’t be any to begin with, the man’s as hard as rock.  
  
The reply, when it comes, is almost instant.  
  
To: Stiles  
From: D’Dawg  
  
 _ Well, don’t you?  _  
  
Stiles kind of has a panic attack, because  _ how _ could Derek even know such a thing? And then he remembers how vulnerable his meager human senses are compared to the godly power of the Alpha, and realizes the point is moot.  
  
When he looks down, there’s another text.  
  
To: Stiles  
From: D’Dawg  
  
 _ I’m taking that as a yes.  
_  
To: D’Dawg  
From: Stiles  
  
 _ You are a horrible person. _  
  
To: Stiles  
From: D’Dawg  
  
 _ I’m not the one fantasizing about werewolf mating rituals between two of my PACKMATES. _  
  
And seriously, Stiles really should’ve seen how disgusting that actually was.  
  
*  
  
On Friday, there’s another meeting.  
  
They have them in the woods surrounding Derek’s house, because it’s not like his house is actually done yet, and while it might make Stiles a little more comfortable to have a roof over his head, he’s actually more comfortable with that roof  _ not _ falling on said head. So, they’ve been having them out here, and it’s nice. There aren’t any active werewolf hunters in town anymore, since the Argents are a little more accepting of Scott, Derek, Lydia, and Jackson now that they realize they’re not an immediate threat to society. And probably never will be if Stiles has anything to say about it.  
  
It’s cool, and the wind hits along his face pleasantly as he takes a seat beside Scott, wedged between him and Jackson, right across from Derek.  
  
Not much really happens at the meetings, it’s more of a “what’s up, how are you, please stop trying to get yourself and everyone involved killed, and here’s our game plan for the next full moon” kind of thing–being as they have these twice a week, every week, the latter changes a lot–but it’s nice to see everyone together. Between different classes and after school activities–on everyone but Stiles’ and Derek’s parts–it’s hard to gather around like this without interruption.   
  
Derek doesn’t say anything, and lets his eyes flicker from person to person, almost like he’s seeing into their souls.   
  
Stiles smirks, and before he can stop himself, says, “Not for nothing, but the last time someone looked at me like that–”  
  
Scott cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. “ _Stiles_.  
  
Stiles throws his hands up defensively, successfully almost knocking his jacket sleeve into the bonfire they’re crowded around. He’s pretty sure that everyone’s trying not to laugh at him right now, but most of them (see here: Jackson and Lydia) are failing miserably. Apparently, the only entertainment needed tonight is Stiles, once again, making a fool of himself. Please and thank you. “Scott, I wasn’t going to say anything  _ rude _ .”   
  
Derek looks unimpressed. “Yes you were.”   
  
Stiles glares at his idiotically pretty face, but doesn’t say anything else. It’s probably what Derek wanted all along. Sadly, what Derek wants, Derek usually gets.  
  
The world is seriously not fair to young, pale teenage guys like Stiles.  
  
“The full moon is coming–”  
  
And then Stiles just ends up blocking the rest out, because he’s not a werewolf and Scott isn’t solely his responsibility anymore, and he has no use for this conversation anyway. There are more trying things to worry about now that the murders have gone down to zilch. He thinks that maybe when he gets home he might finally start on that book report he’s been putting off for a couple of weeks, but then again browsing the internet aimlessly for a few hours sounds better, so.   
  
“Stiles,” Derek says, and he’s kneeling in front of him. It’s then that when he looks around he sees that everyone else is gone. Allison’s trailing behind Scott’s back, about 3.5 seconds away from jumping on it, and Lydia and Jackson are long gone.  
  
“Oh, Jesus, I’m going to die tonight aren’t I?” Stiles asks, because his mouth is an idiot and doesn’t know when to shut up. “This has been your plan all along, hasn’t it?”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes. “Cute.”  
  
Stiles sighs. “It’s impossible to get a straight answer out of you. I bet you, you would probably growl if I asked,  _ literally _ , and then you would make some vague reference to a TV show twice my age and _surprise_ , there’ll be a sudden knife through my chest.”  
  
“I’m surprised you don’t fall over with how full of shit you are.”  
  
“I hate you so much right now,” Stiles says, and Derek lets out a chuckle. “No, this isn’t funny. You’re not funny.”  
  
Derek shrugs, like this doesn’t really bother him, like Stiles’ opinion doesn’t  _ matter _ , which is fine, because he’s an asshole anyway.  
  
“I’m hilarious,” Derek insists, and Stiles makes a mental note to talk to Scott about egging on Derek’s ego like this, because it can prove to have severe health problems in the future, and almost all of those end up with Stiles being found in a ditch somewhere. In pieces.  
  
Stiles doesn’t say anything, and instead looks at Derek, and thinks that he’s really not so bad. Before, when they had first met, Stiles had hated him but he had really only hated him because he was terrified of him, and somewhere deep down, he was having his secret gay epiphany. If Danny had been more receptive of Stiles’ unconscious advances, Stiles thinks this may have turned out different.  
  
“You’re insufferable,” Stiles says.  
  
“Just, shut  _ up _ , for once in your life, Stiles,” Derek says, on the edge between exasperated and angry, but mostly exasperated. So Stiles counts that as a win.  
  
Stiles isn’t sure what he’s expecting–he wasn’t really expecting anything, not really, but he  _ really _ wasn’t expecting Derek’s lips to magically fall against his. Stiles would like to think that maybe Derek tripped over a branch and accidentally fell on his face instead of the floor, which was fine, that would earn Stiles extra friend points and all. He realizes belatedly that Derek had been kneeling in front of him and he’s pretty sure it’s impossible to trip like that.  
  
As soon as the kiss began, it’s suddenly ending, and then where Derek was, he’s not there anymore. Stiles watches his retreating back for what feels like a very long time.   
  
He doesn’t know what to think, not really. He’s pretty sure Derek and Jackson are doing the dirty behind everyone’s backs (or maybe just Stiles’) and he’s also pretty sure that werewolves are incredibly territorial; Jackson probably wouldn’t like Stiles fucking around with his boyfriend, werefriend, whatever Derek is to him. There is something unsettling about the fact that Derek went to  _ Jackson _ before Stiles–Stiles is totally better than him, anyway–but it’s also exhilarating (and wrong) to think that a guy as hot as Derek would cheat on his boyfriend with Stiles.  
  
He doesn’t really know what this means, either. It could’ve just been a diversion, to get Stiles to stop talking so Derek could make his stealthy getaway like all of those heroes do in the movies. Or maybe he had done it because he had finally realized his debilitating attraction towards Stiles and had to act on it and  fast . But the most likely was probably the former.  
  
And then the most disturbing thought of all makes Stiles literally want to vomit up his lunch, and possibly his breakfast, too–though that’s long gone by now.  _Jackson and Derek want a threesome with him_.  Holy hell. He doesn’t know what caught their eye about him, but it’s obviously something big, and there’s disgust and excitement running through him and they’re both pretty evenly matched, which only disgusts him more.  
  
It’s nice feeling wanted, it’s not like anyone can blame him.  
  
He finally decides that chasing after Derek is better than sitting here theorizing, so he decides that it’s probably his best bet.  
  
“Hey, Derek, wait!” He calls, and the crunching of the branches stop abruptly; Derek letting Stiles catch up with him.  
  
“Dude, I knew you were a kinky bastard!” He says, and slaps Derek on the shoulder, and yeah, that probably wasn’t so much of a good idea. “You want to have a threesome!”  
  
Derek actually looks  shocked , like that was the last thing he expected Stiles to say. He had been sure the mortified feeling he was putting out was pretty strong, but maybe not.  
  
“Werewolves can’t even  _ have _ threesomes.”  
  
Oh. “Oh.” Stiles says, and then Derek starts moving again.   
  
“Then for  _what_?  What did you do that for?”  
  
Derek doesn’t say anything, he just smiles slightly at Stiles and walks away, but his pace is slow and his arm is outstretched, almost like he’s wanting Stiles to come up beside him and take his hand.  
  
So that’s what he does.


End file.
